I just knew the meeting would be packed with all the people whose New Year Resolution was to lose weight. I knew the news from the scales was going to be bad, bad, bad. How could it not be bad when I spent the last month sitting on my ass, drinking champagne, eating chocolate, and watching House, M.D., where, for some reason, no one ever seemed to be dying of obesity-related illnesses like diabetes or hardening of the arteries or stuckinthebathtub-itis.
My weight gain? Hugh Laurie's fault. Damn him and his stubble-faced wonderfulness!
And then, at 8:00 or so this morning, when it came time to pack my daughter's backpack for school, I found a bunch of homework sheets that she had not done. So there I was, still in my pajamas, trying to get some of her homework finished and properly slotted away into the binder ... grumpy past all my abilities to describe, yet trying to sound cheerful and loving and not like the kind of mother who stomps all over her daughter's self-esteem, minces it, dips it in flour, deep fat fries it, and EATS IT.
So I sent her off to school, not in tears or anything like that. Yay. But at that point, I really didn't want to go to my meeting.
Mind you, I do want to get to the gym. I do want to re-lose the weight I just finished losing, for God's sake. I do want to be back on track. Why, on Sunday, I had sushi for lunch. On Tuesday, I had a grilled shrimp salad. Yesterday I spent 90 minutes on my new treadmill watching Bringing up Baby.
But baby steps for now.
So I'm wearing one of those god-awful Juicy Couture knock-off velour track suits. I'm going to make the beds, clean up the kitchen, and pack the van with a nice selection of rummage. If I have time, I'll get on the treadmill. (Maybe watch House, M.D.) And I will not drink champagne while I'm on it.
Tomorrow I will weigh myself on my friendly (i.e., lying sack of shit) bathroom scale. And I will post the number.
Honestly, what I do for
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